


the discovery of nameless things

by AvaRosier



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, because Sharon Carter is a badass, fight sequence type violence, set during Captain America The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regardless of whether their words were fate or a self-fulfilling prophecy, Steve, Sam, and Sharon's soulmarks lead them to one other.</p><p>[Will probably add at least one more chapter to this fic, I just need to pretend so I feel less guilty about having unfinished fics lying around, let me live.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the discovery of nameless things

**Steve**

 

 

Soulmarks had always mystified Steve Rogers.

 

He had been raised Catholic and his mother had always told him that soulmarks were God's way of giving people the best chance at happiness. Steve, having inherited his stubbornness from Sarah Rogers, had always believed that humans had a certain degree of free will.

 

Was the Lord assigning soulmates based on a possible future in which who they became and what they do is known, or did the presence of words on the skin serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy?

 

The presence of soulmarks weren't a certainty. Sometimes people woke up and discovered that their words were no longer there, even before they had a chance to meet the person who would've uttered them, like Jack O'Malley down the street whose words (' _Do you kiss your mother with that mouth_?') faded right before his eyes one Tuesday when he was fourteen. Steve wasn't sure why God would be able to know who was meant for a particular person but not know that one of them would die before they even met. Maybe He didn't know everything.

 

Hence, free will.

 

It certainly would explain why meeting your soulmate did not guarantee a happy ending. Maybe it was too much to predict how each person would react and change according the circumstances they faced in life. Just look at what happened with Mrs. Braddock down the hallway, whose soulmate endured the worst of the Great War and decided to take his nightmares out on her. His ma had spent plenty of time brewing Mrs. Braddock a cup of tea while they tried to cover her bruises up so folk wouldn't talk.

 

Steve, though, felt confident that the words, ' _Hey guys, I'm Agent Carter_ ', on the inside of his left bicep pointed in the direction of the military. Nobody else quite believed it-not with his scrawny build and ill health. Bucky's own soulmark was rather mystifying, however- it had presented in a strange cursive that nobody could read until elderly Mrs. Antipov saw them on Bucky's back one sweltering day when they were playing ball outside and he had stripped his shirt off and proceeded to inform him that his words were in Russian. Hence, Bucky reluctantly began sitting with her for lessons in the language.

 

Interestingly enough, Steve had a second soulmark. Not exactly rare, but not exactly common either. There was little he could glean from the words, ' _Oh, no. No you don't_ -', branded on his right shoulder blade.

 

Against all odds, Steve met Dr. Erskine and was accepted into the supersoldier program. When a woman, smartly done up in an Army uniform that was accentuated by two SSR pins on her lapels, strode up to the men and declared in a crisp English accent, “Gentlemen, I'm Agent Carter,” Steve was perplexed. What did it mean when you had a fairly specific set of words and someone said something very similar but not quite?

 

His first words directly to her got no reaction. But him standing there gawking at her like an idiot earned him a thin-lipped raise of her eyebrow. “Ma'am, I didn't say your words, did I?” He asked her.

 

“No, Private, you did not.” She was gracious enough, however, to not court-martial him for undressing in front of her in order to show her the words on his bicep.

 

“That's definitely not my handwriting, I'm sorry. But 'Carter' is hardly a uncommon surname, and there's a war on. Odds are there is more than one Agent Carter running around.”

 

As it turned out, knowing Steve was how Peggy ended up meeting her actual soulmate: Gabe Jones. They'd received a weekend's furlough and were spending it at a pub in London and Gabe had been bragging that he would flirt in French with the first woman who came through the door, which turned out to be Peggy herself. Steve had to give Gabe credit for having the guts to follow through even though he clearly recognized her as a ranking officer.

 

And Peggy? Steve supposed there were worse things to have tattooed on your skin than “ _Est-ce que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux_?” Her face registered surprise for all of two seconds before she was returning fire, in equally impeccable French, telling Gabe that maybe she _would_ have him court-martialed. But she smiled then, and Steve and the other Commandos beat a hasty retreat to another corner of the pub to leave them to have their First Meet in peace.

 

But, again, your soulmarks were no guarantee.

 

Bucky, the closest thing to a brother Steve had ever had, falls into an icy chasm in the Alps. Then Steve was left to wonder if somewhere, another person was grieving for him, too, their skin now blank. When Steve steered the _Valkyrie_ into the Arctic ice, his one last hope was that his soulmates would find each other.

 

 _Be happy_ , he prayed as he began to lose consciousness and the paralyzing cold crept into his bones. _I wish_ \--

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve saw the other man often, doing laps around the National Mall. It made him grin whenever he saw the half impressed, half annoyed look on his face at the rate Steve made a circuit around the Reflecting Pool. Steve couldn't help the juvenile urge to tease the man. The fact that he was incredibly attractive didn't hurt either. Natasha was always trying to get him to date casually, to get himself out there even if he still had his soulmarks.

 

He had woken up seventy years later, to find that most of his friends were dead and that many of the touchstones he'd had in the world had faded away with time, or changed, or disappeared completely. Maybe God, or the universe, had given him soulmarks based on this specific future. Or maybe his soulmates were like Peggy, old and wondering why they suddenly had a dead soulmate come back to life after all these years.

 

In the meantime, he might as well have a little fun. Like Natasha says in that droll tone of hers, “Hashtag YOLO.”

 

('You only live once' was a rather ironic motto to live by where Steve was concerned, a fact he had pointed out to Natasha, who had just shrugged and taken another noisy slurp of her iced coffee.)

 

Steve had it all planned out, what he was going to say the next time he passed the man. _On your left, on your left_ , he chanted to himself as he rounded the corner and sprinted towards the figure in front of him. Steve wanted to giggle when he saw the man notice him and try valiantly to increase his speed.

 

“ _Oh, no. No you don't_ -” he yelled as Steve thundered past him.

 

“On your left,” he said.

 

Steve was already halfway down the long side when it hit him and he nearly sprawled head over heels into the concrete. “What?” He twisted around and saw the man bent over with his hands on his knees, wheezing for breath as he stared at Steve in shock. Steve wasn't sure why he was surprised that meeting his soulmate had come out of left field; after all, you're never prepared for the moment no matter how many magazine articles you read or how many soulmate psychologists are on the talk shows.

 

Hands on his hips, Steve padded around the corner towards the man who was now half collapsed onto a bench.

 

“Need a medic?”

 

His soulmate burst out laughing, or, as well as he could since he was still trying to catch his breath. “I need a new set of lungs. Dude, you just ran, like, thirteen miles in thirty minutes. “

 

Steve shrugged, trying to hide a grin but failing. “Guess I got a late start.”

 

He wasn't buying it. “Really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.” His dark, closely shorn head whipped around before looking back up at Steve. “Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

 

Steve was impressed, so far this First Meet was going well. Of course, he would accept whatever his soulmate wanted their relationship to be, but Steve could definitely see the potential for a romantic bond. Jerking his chin in the direction of the insignia on his soulmate's sweater, he asked, “What unit you with?”

 

“58th Pararescue. But now I'm working down at the VA. Sam Wilson.” He introduced himself then, holding his hand out for Steve to help drag him to his feet.

 

“Steve Rogers.”

 

“I kind of put that together.” Steve didn't miss the once-over Sam gave him, though he could blame the slight burning of his ears on his exertion. “Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing.”

 

He sighed, “It takes some getting used to.” That was understating it.

 

Sam seemed to understand, though. “It's your bed, right? It's too soft? When I was over there, I'd sleep on the ground, use rocks for pillows, like a caveman. Now I'm home, lying in my bed, and it's like...”

 

“Lying on a marshmallow. Feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor,” Steve finished his sentence. They were both military, they'd both served in wars, it seemed there were plenty of points they'd have in common.

 

“How long?”

 

“Two tours.” It's like they don't even have to say complete sentences to understand what the other's asking.They fell into unison together, walking in a general direction towards their respective places. Sam kept shooting him curious glances. “You must miss the good old days, huh?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Well, things aren't so bad,” he drawled. “Food's a lot better. We used to boil everything. No polio is good. Internet, so helpful. I've been reading that a lot, trying to catch up.” Maybe he _was_ being a bit of a smartass.

 

Sam paused, partially crossing his arms (and then it was Steve's turn to look), as he contemplated something. “Marvin Gaye, 1972, Trouble Man soundtrack. Everything you missed jammed into one album.”

 

“I'll put it on the list,” Steve reached into his pants pocket. From the snicker Sam made when he pulled out his little notebook and pen, Steve guessed he wasn't expecting him to actually put his suggestion on a list.

 

“What else you got on that? Thai? Thai's good. At least you've seen Star Wars, I can still respect you...” Sam trailed off, shoulder bumping against Steve's. “Oh god, what bastard told you to look up Disco?”

 

(That had been Clint, whose advice Steve was now questioning at every chance he got.)

 

Steve knew neither one of them was smelling particularly rosy after all the sweating they'd been doing, but having Sam standing this close was...it felt right. They finally arrived at the point they'd have to split up to head home.

 

“Listen, how about we exchange our numbers and make plans to grab dinner sometime soon?”

 

“Sure, like a date?”

 

“Hey man, it can be whatever you want it to be.”

 

“A date, then.” Steve pulled his phone out, unlocked it, and committed his first act of trust by handing it over to Sam so he could add himself to Steve's contacts list. Sam did the same with his phone, and miraculously, Steve managed to not break the thing with his thumbs.

 

“Alrighty, then.” They started to leave, Sam walking backwards and Steve called out one last thing, not wanting to actually say goodbye.

 

“Thanks for the run. If you want to call that running.” Sam's eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline.

 

“Oh? is that how it is?”

 

Yeah, _definitely_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  **Sam**

 

As far as soulmates went, ' _Hey guys, I'm Agent Carter_ ' had confirmed Sam's decision to join up. The military was something of a tradition in his family. His mother had been in the Air Force herself before retiring and taking a job with a commercial airline. He gets his love of flying from her, but it's his father, the lawyer, that he gets his steadiness of purpose from.

 

Soulmarks knew no institutional limitations when it came to race or sexuality. But damn if Americans had a hard time accepting the possibility that God had decreed mixed race or same sex pairings, even after decades of the soulmark phenomenon. The Phelps family over in Kansas were always going on about how soulmarks were the sign of Satan or some other bullshit. Some others tried to reason that soulmates could be platonic, though nowadays platonic soulmates were becoming more acceptable, driven by the growing recognition of people on the asexual spectrum.

 

Sam had dated people of both genders casually in his teens and early adulthood, like many people who'd had yet to meet their soulmates. Whoever this Agent Carter was, Sam figured he probably wouldn't meet him or her until he was an adult. Consequently, he'd felt like he had plenty of time to learn something about interpersonal relationships. Weirdly enough, he found himself rather excited at the prospect of meeting that person, in finding out whether there really was something more special about how they bounced off each other.

 

This was, of course, tempered by his other soulmark, the faded grey one that, until two years ago, he hadn't even been able to read. It'd been a month before Riley...

 

They'd been in the showers on the FOB when Riley had piped up from behind him.

 

“Hey Sammy? Since when do you have a second soulmark?”

 

“Jeez, man, how close are you staring at my ass to be able to see that?”

 

“I don't have to stare, it's right there in dark ink, stamped on your fucking ass!”

 

That had led to Sam hitting the dial to shut off the flow of water and hurrying buck-naked over to the nearest mirror so he could stare at his ass. He was pretty sure he got a few weird looks from the other guys in there, but at the time he hadn't given a damn.

 

“What does it say?”

 

“Uhhh, and I quoteth, ' _On your left_ '. Whoever this person is, I want first dibs at meeting them after you do, just so I can personally thank them for making me kneel here and squint at your ass in order to read that.”

 

He didn't have the foggiest idea why that soulmark had resurged after all these years, it was a mystery that would preoccupy him for the next two years. He especially wanted to meet his soulmates after Riley left a huge gaping hole in his life. They'd walked, talked, breathed and flew together for the better part of four years. Sam had never had a best friend the way he'd had Riley. In a way, they were platonic soulmates by choice, and for months after the funeral, he was haunted by nightmares where he was forever straining, trying to tuck his wings in closer so he could fly faster but never managing to catch up to Riley.

 

Afterwards, it just wasn't the same. So he left the military as soon as his tour was up and started to set about the business of figuring out what he would do with his life now. Just trying to readjust to civilian life had been hard enough, at least working with the VA was helping him deal with his own grief and guilt.

 

And then one day he'd realized that the hot blond with the ridiculous body and even more ridiculous pace was honest-to-god Captain America. Not exactly the kind of celebrity he'd expected to actually see jogging out and about in the nation's capitol, weirdly enough. The second thing Sam learned about Captain America besides the fact that the man was unforgivably hot?

 

Captain America was an _asshole_.

 

Sam worked out. He kept himself in peak condition. He'd been running this route ever since he'd moved back stateside and then here comes this guy, passing him thrice in the time it took him to make a single circuit. Sam tried to up his pace, but the guy was running like he had the hounds from hell on his heels. Maybe he did, metaphorically speaking, but Sam did his level best to glare whenever he heard the telltale THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD of Mr. Stars-and-Stripes coming up behind him. The bastard actually smirked at Sam once, as he passed.

 

Naturally, this asshole is his soulmate.

 

(Sam's not complaining. Okay, maybe a little. But seriously, what the hell was he supposed to do when one of the most famous war heroes, a super soldier whose face was plastered all over the history books, was his soulmate?)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Sam decided the best course of action was to treat Steve Rogers like just another human being, because, within five minutes of meeting at Sam's place for dinner, that was the fifth thing he'd discovered about the man. The third being that he was Sam's soulmate, the fourth being that Steve Rogers was an outrageous flirt. Though, in retrospect, he should've picked up on the flirting thing given that over the weeks they'd been jogging in the same place, Steve's running outfits had grown progressively tighter. Show off.

 

“Now,” Sam started, setting out two plates on the counter where a massive village of just-opened cartons sat. “I'll have you know my parents made sure I knew my way around a kitchen, and we really ought to have a date where we cook together, but I figured we might as well cross something else off that list of yours.”

 

Steve was ducking his head down so he could breathe in the scent of each dish, nodding. “Yeah, from how good this stuff smells, I'm probably going to hate myself for taking this long to try Thai food.”

 

“Considering how much we ordered, I dare you to not find a single dish in here you like,” Sam told him as they settled down at his dining room table with their plates.

 

“Oh wow, definitely better than hot milk and rice,” Steve groaned, barely two minutes later, closing his eyes in rapture in between bites of his papaya salad and the chicken panang curry he'd requested on Sam's recommendation.

 

“I know, right?”

 

Sam was content to pass the next few minutes in silence as they both started filling their bellies with the still steaming food. It was Steve who broached the subject.

 

“We should probably address the elephant in the room. You got another soulmark, too?”

 

Sam nodded, piling his plate with more sticky rice than there was yellow curry. Damn, but he did love the stuff. “Yeah. But it's kind of hard to google for Agent Carters without getting the attention of the NSA.”

 

“Huh.” Steve was regarding him curiously.

 

“What?”

 

“If your soulmark says ' _Hey guys, I'm Agent Carter_ ', too, then looks like we'll be meeting them at the same time.”

 

“Looks like it. Say, didn't you know an Agent Carter back in the day?” He'd actually paid attention in history class, thank you.

 

“Yeah, Peggy. Thought she was my soulmate for a second there, but my words didn't say 'Gentlemen, my name is Agent Carter' and she did end up meeting her soulmate during the war.” Sam detected some sadness there. Steve likely didn't have much left from before the ice. Most of his friends were probably dead, though Sam thought he would've remembered hearing about someone as high-profile as Peggy Carter's funeral.

 

“Weird how fate ends up working out. You know, I did have your soulmark on my ass from birth, it was just so faded I couldn't read it until two years ago. When you were defrosted, I presume.”

 

Steve snorted at the reference, but then he looked up from the Pad Thai he was heaping onto his plate and smirked. “My words are on your ass? Maybe you should show me so I can make sure they're the right ones. Can't be too safe with false positives, you know.” His tone was deceptively smooth.

 

“Not until the third date, Captain Rogers,” he fake demurred, batting his eyelashes. They shared a grin then, and that was the moment Sam realized he was in trouble, because everything he'd been excited for upon meeting his soulmate was being actualized. Steve was already getting to him and not just the sudden uncomfortable tightening of his jeans.

 

“Our third could be a guy, could be a gal. Neither would be a problem for me,” Sam said casually before they put the subject to rest. Couldn't hurt to check; he considered himself bisexual and it wasn't unheard of for soulmates to not have compatible sexualities.

 

“Me either.”

 

From there, the conversation flowed to other topics, like Sam's family, the new friends Steve had made, and some of their favorite books. As far as first dates went, Sam thought he could consider this one a resounding success, though they didn't kiss before Steve waved goodnight and started to head home. That was alright, Sam had plans to woo the shit out of Steve Rogers, he could be a little patient.

 

Except two days later, when he had expected to see Steve on their usual jogging route, he wasn't there. Disappointment had him cutting his run in half, deciding to just call it a day. He didn't even make it to the intersection before a sleek black sports car was coming to a screeching halt in front of him. The windows slowly lowered and Sam could see both Steve and a redhead woman that he assumed must be Natasha Romanoff, AKA Black Widow. Steve wasn't smiling broadly but there was naked excitement in his eyes.

 

“Get in, loser. We're going to meet our third soulmate.”

 

Natasha smiled then, showing teeth, and waved. Sam shook his head, letting out an incredulous chuckle. How the fuck was this his life? He had a lot of questions, and he sure as hell would get answers for them, but for now, he was gonna go with the flow.

 

“Alright,” he drawled, squeezing into the back seat of the sports car, directly behind the driver's seat. As soon as they were all buckled in and Natasha was weaving through traffic like she was threading a needle, he stared at Steve's profile.

 

“One: who the hell let you watch _Mean Girls_?”

 

Steve glanced over at Natasha, who looked at him through the reflection in the rear-view mirror, eyebrow arched. “Hey, it's one of the seminal movies of the last decade. And FYI, _Steve_ insisted on picking you up like this just so he could make that reference.”

 

“It's true, I did,” Steve admitted, nodding unabashedly.

 

“Show off,” Sam said fondly. “But seriously you guys, how are we going to go meet this Agent Carter?”

 

“Well,” Steve began, “we just got the call earlier about a mission on a ship out in the middle of the ocean that had been hijacked by pirates. SHIELD techs and a few agents are on it, and Nat mentioned that her friend and fellow agent, Sharon Carter, was on a covert mission onboard the ship. We both agreed that our soulmarks were reason enough for you to suit up with us.”

 

“I vetted you and sweet-talked Director Fury into liberating your wings from Fort Meade,” Natasha supplied. Sam wasn't sure a man named Fury, who was at the head of one of the most mysterious and classified organizations on the planet was the sort to be sweet-talked into anything, but he'd take what he could get.

 

“I'm guessing the presence of an ex-Air Force civilian on what's probably a black book mission is gonna ruffle feathers,” Sam pointed out. Military hierarchy was military hierarchy no matter which branch, even in covert ops.

 

“I don't give a damn,” Steve's declaration was punctuated by the clench of his jaw as he turned to face Sam. (Was that the national anthem he heard playing in the background?)

 

He did, however, catch Natasha's reflection rolling her eyes at Steve. “STRIKE team Delta are big boys, they'll just have to deal. Special circumstances and all. I'm sure you'll impress them with your toys.” That got a snort from Sam _and_ Steve.

 

“So,” Sam began as the car came to a stop at a red light. “This Sharon Carter...she cute?” Might as well ask the important questions.

 

Natasha twisted around in her seat, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Very cute. Also very deadly.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Sharon**

 

Sharon had always suspected she'd meet her soulmate in the middle of a gunfight. Having the words, ' _Ignore him_.  _That...was a damned good shot. You can save my ass anytime_ ,' in fairly elegant penmanship along her right side, starting at about two inches below her armpit and ending at the widest slope of her hip was a dead giveaway.

 

As to how she'd be involved in a gunfight, well...

 

On some level, ever since she realized that Aunt Peggy was a legendary spy, Sharon had known she wanted to be an agent just like her. Where her siblings and most of her cousins had preferred to abandon the 'boring' adults and go play outside, Sharon had rushed to Aunt Peggy's side and demanded to hear more stories about the war. And Peggy had indulged her.

 

Sharon was pretty sure her parents had hoped it was just a phase, that the draw of following in her peers' footsteps would prevail and she'd do four-years at a decent in-state school. But Sharon had carefully crafted her extracurricular activities around honing her abilities: ballet, martial arts, taking the AP class in international politics and history her junior year of high school, and begging her parents to sign her up for college-level Chinese her senior year because the French and German offered by the high school wasn't enough.

 

Her graduation present from Aunt Peggy was her very first thigh holster. That had been another skill she'd picked up: tagging along with her very Republican, pro-gun uncle to the shooting range and trying to ignore his occasional rants for the sake of becoming an incredibly proficient shot.

 

What happened on 9/11 and the subsequent wars also had a very formative impact on her resolve. Sharon didn't leave school because she wanted to fight a war, she left because she didn't trust a lot of the people who did. But she trusted Aunt Peggy and she had faith that the organization Peggy had helped to found would want to do the right thing to help people, not just protect a single country's interests.

 

That, had been dangerously naive, she knew that now.

 

Right before she'd left Hong Kong to take a posting back in D.C. at the Trisk, Sharon had noticed an odd thing while she lounged in the bath: the grey scrawl that had hugged the curve of her left inner knee all these years was suddenly very, very black.

 

" _I had him on the ropes_..."

 

Sharon had never been sure how to feel about her soulmarks. Looking at them both now, she wondered if she'd be meeting them at the same time. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. She'd loved it when her one surviving soulmark indicated she would save her soulmate's life; the second, once it had resurged, seemed rather...petulant. Obviously there was no way to predict the exact circumstances of the First Meeting, but Sharon couldn't stop herself from speculating.

 

Would they be truly supportive of her dedication to her duty, to her career? She wasn't oblivious to the prevailing gendered expectations that frequently played out in many relationships, soulmate or no, which usually ended with the man's career taking precedence over the woman's. And if the soulmarks were related to one other, then one of her soulmates was male. 

 

And he was quite possibly Captain America. 

 

If Natasha's invariably fading/resurging soulmark indicated when the Winter Soldier was taken out of cryostasis, then Sharon couldn't ignore the fact that her own soulmark resurgence came on the exact date that SHIELD records reported defrosting Steve Rogers after finding the crashed _Valkyrie_ in the Arctic.  It was easier for Sharon to not think about that possibility.

 

There was a part of her that fantasized about these vaguely concrete soulmates of hers, of domestic scenes where she had their respect, admiration, and acceptance. But that was all she had, nice fantasies. When she had been in her early twenties and became exposed to more adult relationships, she'd began to worry that she wouldn't be a good partner because of her own ambitions. But there was nothing she could do about it for now, except have the occasional casual relationship (one-night stands, really) and continue on her quest to eat all the delicious burgers in existence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Sharon was aware something hinky was going on in SHIELD. All Natasha had to do was show up at her place in the middle of the night, pale as a ghost, saying “my mark's back,” and Sharon knew something bad was about to happen. Whoever had taken the Winter Soldier out of cryostasis wasn't doing it without a target in mind. (It's not that Sharon knew everything about Natasha's past, just that there was a lot more to it than she'd ever disclosed officially to SHIELD.)

 

On top of that, Director Fury was being exceptionally cagey lately. She respected the man, and had earned enough respect in return for him to give her an off-the-books assignment on the _Lemurian Star_. Her orders were to copy a specific program on the _Lemurian Star_ 's hard drive without any of the other SHIELD agents knowing.  “The wolves are gathering outside our door, Thirteen,” was all he would tell her. “I'm sending in a diversion for you and Agent? That diversion is not gonna be friendly. So you better be good.” That was the closest Nick Fury would ever come to saying 'be careful'.

 

So, yeah, Sharon was worried that the two events were not isolated coincidences. _Just what the hell is going on in SHIELD_ , she wondered two days later as she deflected yet another attempt by Jasper Sitwell to chat her up. It was hard to do what she needed to do without him practically shadowing her at every turn. She had reason enough to be there- after all, she was technically one of the ranking officers on Project Insight and the bureaucracy wanting to make sure the satellite launches went according to plan made perfect sense.

 

So, she had to curb her irritation for the sake of seeming like she was just eager to have the last payload go up so she could head back home for a good meal and a hot shower with decent pressure. She really didn't need for the ship to be breached by pirates.

 

And one of them she definitely recognized as Georges Batroc.

 

 _Batroc_? She mentally yelled at the Director as she hid in a compartment directly below the command central. _Just how bad is this thing that you have to sic one of Interpol's most wanted on your own agents?_

 

It became immediately clear that Sharon was going to have to create a distraction from Fury's own distraction if she were to complete her mission before the inevitable arrival of STRIKE team Delta. If she were lucky, Nat would be with them. Maybe even Captain America himself, Steve Rogers. 

 

 _Don't go there_ , she scolded herself.

 

(“I'll admit, he was pretty dishy back in the day,” Aunt Peggy had admitted of Captain Rogers with a small giggle, tracing the grey but faintly readable scrawl of sixteen-year-old Sharon's soulmark on her knee as they had an impromptu picnic in the backyard. "You remind me of him, sometimes." It had been one of her odd non sequiturs, back before they realized the Alzheimer's was setting in.)

 

Sharon had to take her time, to wait out the patrolling mercenaries before sneaking out of her hidey hole and gradually making her way down the length of the ship, leaving tiny presents attached to even tinier timers. It almost took her too long to get back to her hiding spot before the small explosions began to go off, and, exactly as she predicted, the men who had been up in the command center began to rush down the stairs towards the ruckus, thinking it was a pocket of resistance putting up a fight.

 

She wasted a few precious seconds before darting up the rickety metal stairs, knowing that the creaking sound might give her away to whomever was left to guard the room full of computers. The man in there was older than her, with the rough worn look of a career soldier who had never been in it for the ideals but the violence. Sharon got to enjoy the fraction of a second where his bushy eyebrows rose in surprise before he was growling and rushing at her, brandishing nothing but his fists.

 

His first mistake.

 

She had her modified garrote and with a few twists, deprived him of the use of his hands as she delivered punishing blows to his vulnerable torso with her knees. Then she released him and slammed her palm up into his nose before knocking him unconscious. Finally unimpeded, Sharon stuck the flash drive Fury had given her into one of the ports and began to work her magic on the computer, bringing up the Insight program and copying it onto the drive.

 

_38%..._

 

The unconscious mercenary's earpiece, knocked loose in the short-lived heat of battle, began to squawk.

 

_65%..._

 

 _Come on, come on, faster!_  Sharon knew she was rapidly running out of time. There was a dark blur of motion outside the window, attracting her attention. She gaped at the window. For a second, she'd thought she'd seen Captain America gliding down towards the deck courtesy of a man with a set of wings strapped onto him. That was unlikely to be a figment of her imagination, so she'd bet good money that it was STRIKE team Delta arriving.

 

_98%...Download complete._

 

The second she got the prompt, Sharon was sticking the drive into a hidden compartment in her jacket and turning to make a break for it. Only to come up short when she saw the man standing there in the middle of the doorway.  Batroc had evidently decided to abandon the bridge and see what was going on. He smiled at her in a way that told her he was confident she would be dead within minutes. _Better be good, Sharon_.

 

“Bon soir, Mademoiselle,” he half-bowed.

 

Using the wire linking the batons, Sharon twirled one into the air, using the physics of speed to build up the weight of impact by the time Batroc decided to rush her. He was only momentarily stunned by the impact to his head and so Sharon took a page out of Natasha's book and launched herself at him, swinging herself up around his shoulders, the garrote wire around Batroc's neck her only other anchor.

 

His fists, however, were free to punch upwards and behind, catching her first in the shoulder, then worse, in her neck and jaw. Those would definitely be leaving bruises. Then she was slammed into a wall, making her grip on him loosen and Batroc took advantage, bucking her forwards off his shoulders. Sharon landed on the slim row of computer consoles, possibly bruising her ribs before sprawling onto the ground.

 

Rolling up into a crouch, she tossed her weapon to the side and awaited his attack. Batroc was an extremely powerful and skilled fighter, but Sharon focused on hitting him where it could impede his offensive. Within minutes she had left him with a bleeding cut above his eye that was impairing his vision, at least one cracked rib that he was certainly aware of by the way he started to baby that side and restrain the power of his punches, and finally there was the broken nose that came from a vicious kick she'd delivered.

 

She took her punches and her kicks, focusing on hurting her opponent more in the few strikes she could land. Batroc's uniform was too thick, so she settled for the more difficult task of aiming at his head. It only cost her another rib or two, but Sharon managed to get enough leverage to slam Batroc's skull against the corner of a console.

 

Before she could do more than stagger away from his sluggishly moving form, Sharon spotted Batroc moving his hand behind his back. There was a small clatter and then a thud of a small, round object rolling across the floor towards her. A shock grenade. Sharon ran for the door, barely making it through before the percussion blast sent her flying over the railing of the stairs to the deck below.

 

The impact fucking _hurt_.

 

But Sharon was alive, if not kicking, by the time the sounds of gunfire on the main deck reached her ringing ears. There were two bodies in sight, next to a hatch cover, and Sharon risked getting hit in the crossfire to grab one of the fallen merc's guns. Her entire body ached, but she forced herself to take stock of what was happening further aft. The STRIKE team had definitely arrived, but they seemed to be accompanied by a man wielding a set of mechanical wings.

 

Those...looked vaguely familiar. Her mind tickled with the memory of an Air-Force program, something about Bakhmala and Khalid Khadil. His back was to her as he swooped in past the masts and derricks to land on the main deck, coming to a stop next to...yep, that was definitely Captain America. Captain Rogers, whatever. They were practically yelling back and forth as she approached. 

 

"Nat said she wasn't with the rest of the hostages. I'll handle these guys, you go look for Agent Carter!" The Captain shouted, only to be tackled by none other than Batroc. (Really, that should have set off alarm bells in her head because nobody ever referred to her as Agent Carter, only ever Agent 13.)

 

 

 _Jesus_ , Sharon groused as she limped closer, _does nobody ever stay dead_?

 

She saw them exchange a series of brutal blows, Rogers forfeiting his shield in order to fight Batroc hand-to-hand, without his cowl. God, he really was attractive, Sharon thought, raising her gun even as she saw the glint of the blade Batroc was sneaking into the fight, aiming for Rogers' vulnerable neck.

 

 _Rat-tat_ , and Batroc collapsed onto the deck, unmoving.  Jerking her chin at both Captain Rogers and the bird-man, Sharon panted, "Hey guys, I'm Agent Carter."

 

Rogers stared at her, mouth open, then stared down at Batroc. " _I had him on the ropes..._ " her knee-soulmate mused, frowning a little. 

 

Sharon, even after two years of suspecting this very thing, was stunned. "Yeah, well, he pissed me off so you can just deal."  She turned to the other man. Before she could say anything, or before he could say anything, there was another mercenary abandoning cover to take a shot at him. 

 

Raising her gun, Sharon fired, the headshot sending the merc to his knees as he fell over, deader than a doornail. Bird-man spun around but after seeing his would-be attacker lying prone on the deck, he shook his head and turned back to face her. 

 

 _"Ignore him_.  _That...was a damned good shot. You can save my ass anytime,"_ he grinned. 

 

 _Well, fucking hell_ , she thought. "Well, it _is_ a nice ass," she admitted.   Her side-soulmate chuckled, his teeth bright in the dark of night. He was handsome, and the very reality of his presence was making her feel unmoored. But she _had_ saved him, just like she had suspected she would have to, and all those lessons at the gun range had been validated. Sharon let out a breathy laugh, aware that her lip was probably still bleeding freely thanks to Batroc.

 

"I'm not gonna dispute that. Sam Wilson," he held his hand out for her to shake and Sharon took it, pumping it firmly and not quite letting go after the proper length of time. He had calluses on his fingertips, making him absolutely, utterly _real_.

 

"Sharon Carter, although they usually call me Agent 13."

 

Captain Rogers stepped closer to them, smiling in a way that told Sharon he hadn't taken her interference personally. "Thanks. Really. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. You could rescue me anytime and I wouldn't complain," his lips quirked at the corners. Between his aw-shucks expression and the rough timbre of his voice, Sharon's insides were clenching and her skin flushed despite the chilly temperatures of the ocean.

 

"Good to know, Captain." She cocked her head in his direction.

 

"Steve. You can call me Steve." He looked so serious as he held his own hand out for her to shake that Sharon couldn't help snorting. "What?"

 

"Nothing, it's just that you're every bit as melodramatic as Aunt Peggy said you were, aren't you?" She smiled.

 

It was Sam who answered her, groaning. "God, yes, you do not even realize. I'm telling you, Sharon, this one is going to be the drama queen of our triad." Sam stepped closer, holding his hands out, and Sharon accepted his offer of help, winding an arm around his neck so he could support some of her weight before they began limping towards where the quinjet would be landing soon.

 

"Oh, is that how it's gonna be?" Steve piped up from behind them, sliding his shield into its sheath on his back. He didn't sound particularly offended. Sharon shared a small grin with Sam. 

 

"Yeah, that's how it's gonna be," Sam shot back. "So, you're related to Peggy Carter, after all?"

 

Sharon thought back to that day when she was sixteen, when Peggy had told Sharon she reminded her of Steve Rogers. "She's my great aunt."

 

Steve nodded, looking pensive. "Quid pro quo," he murmured with a small chuckle.  Sharon decided not to ask him what that meant right now.

 

One of the hatch doors clanged open and a figure stepped out.

 

“Hey, Share-bear,” Natasha drawled, ambling up onto the main deck.  Natasha, of course, was completely nonplussed at the sight of the three of them standing around staring awkwardly, _the bitch_. She probably knew beforehand, Sharon groused, half-heartedly glaring at her friend.

 

“Hey, Natty-light,” she said.

 

“You look like shit.” Sharon rolled her eyes at Natasha's once-over. Well, wasn't that the understatement of the century?

 

"Missed you, too." Sharon reached up to clasp Natasha's hand as she patted her bicep on her way towards the bridge.

 

They would likely be sharing the quinjet back stateside, and then spending a few hours in medical and debrief before they were free. Sharon giggled, shattering the silence of the night. "I'm sorry, I don't know what we're supposed to do now."

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you could give us your number when we get back so we can have a nice long talk, the three of us."

 

"When did you two meet, by the way?" She asked, the thought having occurred to her. It was sinking in that these two men were _hers_ , and she was curious.

 

"Just a few days ago, so this is all new to us, too." Sam hooked his fingers into her belt buckle so he could bear more of her weight as they continued ambling along the main deck toward the landing pad. Sharon discreetly felt along her jacket for the telltale shape of the flash drive. Everything was probably going to go to hell soon, but somehow, knowing that Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers were right there next to her made her feel a little less terrified.

 

"You know what? If that nice long talk can include a huge plate of hot food, you've got yourselves a date."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
